


Through the Nightmare

by BluePaladins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angsty dream, Dark Molly, Just A Dream, Kidnapped, Kidnapped Sherlock, Other, Sherlock Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePaladins/pseuds/BluePaladins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years have passed since the fall. Everybody believes Sherlock's dead except Moriarty (who mysteriously managed to survive the shot). What happens when Moriarty tells John that he has someone in his possession who John has been craving to see again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Ok guys, this is a short story based on a really shitty Sherlock dream I had. The urge to bang my head against the wall is still there. But I won't do that. So don't worry.
> 
> Some things won't have logic because this is based on a dream of mine. I'm sorry. I was really freaked out when I woke up and I needed to get it out of my head. So I decided to write it down, here it goes then. Hope you like my angsty Sherlockian dreams:

 

\------------------------------------

John was standing in the beach with his cellphone in his hand. He was watching the waves of the ocean, waiting for nothing to happen. When suddenly, he receives a message:

Want to meet an old friend of yours? -JM

Instantly John thought of Sherlock. But... it was impossible. Sherlock was dead. Two years had passed since then. It didn't matter to him. John had hope. He still refused to think that his friend was dead. Also, if Jim was involved, anything could happen, right?  
John shook his head. It didn't matter. A friend of his was involved.

John raised his head searching for the sender. Somehow he knew that Jim was there. Watching him. But all he could see was just a beach full of innocent people. People who seemed to be submerged in their own worlds.

So... where was him? John looked up. Right in front of him was a small staircase that leaded to a restaurant. He decided to climb it in order to have a better view of any suspects who could have been on the beach. But he couldn't find a thing.

Defeated, John walked into the restaurant and sat beside a window overlooking the sea. Again, and with a knot on his throat, he turned to watch the waves of the sea for one last time. Now, from the restaurant. John was feeling down. The thought of Sherlock being alive was just... silly. But he had to find Moriarty and this friend that he so claimed to have.

John lowered his sight and suddenly... there it was. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. For a while, his body became rigid, and breathing started to be a difficult task for him.  
Moriarty was sitting in a bench with a tall and skinny man. The figure was shirtless and bruised. His messy dark curls hiding his face.

"SHERLOCK!"

Instinctively John grabbed an empty bottle from a random table and ran downstairs where both men were sitting. As he ran, people became a bunch of blurs. The only thing that mattered to John the most was Sherlock and nothing else. And just within seconds, John was standing in front of both men.

"YOU BASTARD!" John shouted squeezing the bottle in his fist.

Moriarty half smiled. It was all Moriarty's fault. Now, John knew why Sherlock had jumped off of St Bart's Hospital. Moriarty had forced him to do so. The reason remained a mystery.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" John ran to Moriarty and begun to hit him with the empty crystal bottle. Heartbeat raising as fast as a human being could bare. His face redder than before, madder than before. Teeth grinding and eyes tight shut. John kept hitting. When the bottle was finally broken, John pushed the bloody Moriarty away and he ran to hug the detective. Sherlock was shaking, but he responded to the hug. They kept embracing each other for a long time, as if the world were to end. John closed his eyes and tears started to fall. Finally there they were. Together once again. John couldn't see, but it seemed as if Sherlock was sobbing.

"Sherlock…" John ran a hand over the bare back of the detective and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a large amount of awful bruises in the back of Sherlock's right arm. "I'm so sorry…" The hug tightened as John stroked Sherlock's back.

"OK boys, break it up now. Chop-chop!" Jim applauded.

Carefully, John broke from Sherlock and turned to grab the consulting criminal by the collar. "What the hell have you been doing to him?!"

"I don't know" Sang Moriarty in a high-pitched voice. John raised a fist. "Take it easy Johnny Boy. Now, I'll tell you what." The consulting criminal pulled up a gun and aimed it at Sherlock's head. Instinctively, John let him go and after a few seconds of realization the man clenched his jaw in frustration of what he just did. 

"If you don't want me blowing up the Virgin's head, you _will_   go into the room 3022 A and you will leave this inside the wardrobe." With his right hand Moriarty handed to John a small and transparent chip-looking device. "When you're done, get out of the place and… just wait for the rest."

"What is this? What's going to happen? How can I trust you?"

"Well… "I haven't shot him yet, have I?" John looked at the weak figure of Sherlock and stood silent.

"It's your choice, Johnny Boy."

"…Alright. I'll take it into the wardrobe. Just… promise you won't hurt him." Said John, sounding a little bit silly to himself.  _Really!? Don't hurt him!? Look what he has done to him! How can you trust the bastard?!_

"Cross my heart." Moriarty responded with a faint devilish smile.

Insecure about what he was doing, John headed to the room. He arrived to the room in the blink of an eye and left the device inside the wooden furniture as fast as he could. It was done. Now all he had to do was to talk with Moriarty and take Sherlock back. John got out of the room and examined the place as he walked to what seemed to be the exit. The walls were covered with reddish wallpaper with various shapes of vintage black flowers. The floor was made of wood, such as the furniture. Some of them were covered with white tablecloth. The place was full of bookshelves filled with dusty books, clean and messy tea tables with small lamps on them and half open shelves. To be honest, the place was quite large, but all the furniture made it look heaped.

"Hello." A long brown haired woman greeted him. She was leaning in the door's frame with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Molly. He- hello. You… you look different."

"That's because I'm not wearing the lab coat and my hair is loose." Her tone was flat. Something happened to her. Molly just wasn't the same. She wasn't the sweet little Molly that he used to know. And the truth is that since Sherlock's death, John never talked to her any more; so he couldn't tell. In fact, he didn't talk to anyone anymore. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to forget. But what John _did_ forgot was that he and Sherlock were the only few people who used to talk to her; Mostly John, of course. Molly was the shyest and the most sensitive person that he had ever known; of course she had suffered after Sherlock's death. After all, she was in love with him, wasn't she?

John could cope with the issue all by himself (or that's what he thought). Even Lestrade tried to comfort him whenever he could. John never gave in. But, what about Molly? Who came to lift her up? Who came to tell her that everything would be fine? That Sherlock was OK now? No one. She had no one who could help her with her suffering. She had to find a way out of it all by herself and be strong. Leave the old and delicate Molly behind and… grow out of it? John didn't know what to think. Everything happened so fast...

"Molly, I need to tell you something." John's voice stiffened.

"No. I'll tell _you_ something." She exploded. "You're coming with me and _you_ will tell Lestrade that you quit. You quit helping anyone-"

"But-"

"with any of their freaking cases, Watson."

"Molly, Sher-" The pathologist refused to listen to him.

"And don't you ever dare to get into St. Barts _EVER_ again, you useless cun-!"

"MOLLY!"

"WHAT?!" She snapped.

"I know were Sherlock is. He's-"

"Dead."

"No! Listen to me for once and for all! Would you?!" The pathologist tensed. "Sherlock's alive! He was kidnapped by Moriarty! I saw them a few moments ago. He threatened to kill Sherlock if I didn't do what he ordered me to do. I need. Your help. Please... I- I just want him back. There's hope, Molly. There really is; and I will not stay here idly and do nothing about it. Will you help me or not?" John felt awfully frustrated. He was wasting precious time. Will Moriarty still be waiting for him?

"I'll help you."

"Sorry?" John looked up.

"I'll help you." Molly was tearing. She covered up her mouth with a shaking hand and her usual body language came back. There she was. The sweet and tender Molly Hooper that he used to know. "I'll help you recovering Sherlock. What do I do?"

*And suddenly the sweet and glorious voice of my shouting father woke me up*


End file.
